Dude, Where's My Yak?
For reasons known only to the Chinese, they keep the whole of their country on the same time of day. China physically covers about 3 or 4 time zones. Starting as I did in the North East and having now made my way to the West I noticed that things seemed a little out of kilter. For example, a native Beijinger's day will start at about 0600. They would work until noon when they take lunch, and then finish up at about 1600. They would dine at 1800 and then be in bed by about 2100. This means that some Chinese cities shut down very early. In Tibet though, things are different. They open things up at about 0830 with the rising sun, eat whenever they like and because the sun does not set until about 2030 they stay up quite late.
So on the morning when we had to depart for the Yarlung Valley it was about 0700, still dark and I was foggy and confused like I am most mornings. Things started well though as I instantly got on well with Dave and Carl, the two others, as well as knowing Stijn and Mike from earlier. Our guide was friendly and spoke good English and the driver knew what he was doing in the 4WD.
One of our first stops on the way to Samye Monastery was another monastery, though this one could only be accessed from a river. We stopped and got onto a ferry, which was just a wooden hulled vessel with a diesel lawn-mower engine at one end. Our pilot navigated us across a length of river that was beautiful. The water was calm and deep green, with the clear blue sky above us, and mountains framing everything.
We put ashore by the monastery and walked up to it. Our guide told us that there was a Lama in residence and that we might meet him. A Lama in this context is like a Buddhist monk who has reached a certain level of enlightenment. A Lama is the head of one or more monasteries and as such is more like a Catholic Bishop, though without the loud clothing. Or guilt.
We met a couple of the monks who were genuinely friendly as they get few tourists here (seems a shame to put it in the Lonely Planet) and they gave us tea as we waited for an audience with the Lama. Now Tibetans drink nothing other than something called Yak Butter Tea. This is normal tea made with leaves, then whitened with Yak Butter (it’s more like sour cream) and then with a lot of salt. This means that to me it tastes faintly of blue cheese or goats cheese. Not your average cuppa. I have never got used to the flavour of this and often you can order something they call Sweet Tea, which is whitened with the butter and flavoured with sugar. I liked this as it just tastes like sweet tea at home. The Yak-dependency is because at these altitudes and with the dust they dehydrate quickly and one’s lips can crack with the dryness of the air. The salt and the oils in this tea replenish your fluids and soothe your lips. It just tastes of yak.
Shortly afterwards we were shepherded into a room with the Lama sitting in it. What impressed me was that there was very little pomp or ceremony involved. We had each bought one prayer scarf, which is just a length of nylon fabric though it looks like silk, and had to present this to him whilst bowing. I went in and curtsied, presenting my scarf, and he took it in his hands, said a blessing and placed the scarf around my neck. That’s about as close to religion as I have come since my baptism at the age of 6 months. I thought he was a very nice man. I still have the scarf and we were told that it could protect us from misfortune. I certainly needed that given the age of our truck.
I had my head in the clouds having been blessed and saved from a reincarnation as an estate agent and we made our way back to the opposite shore. The journey from there took in a few more monasteries (ho-hum) and our car took in some more dust as by this time the lunchtime hurricane had started blowing dust across the unsurfaced roads we travelled upon. With each gust dust would flow into the car through the ventilators. It was much finer than sand looking and tasting more like talc.
We stopped for lunch at some point in a real Tibetan one-yak town. We sat at this restaurant and our driver kindly bought a dish of yak jerky, like strips of air-dried meat. This stuff had not been cooked or flavoured before drying, so I took a lump of it in my mouth and was nearly sick. It tasted like yak-lard of the type they burn in the monasteries but I had to finish it because the driver had bought it for us and I did not wish to be rude. He also had a big knife, with which he was hacking away at this pile of yak shoe-leather and eating it with gusto. I had the yak curry for lunch that was very tasty.
While in this town I needed the toilet and was directed to a side street covered in human waste. It did not smell, as most of it was sun-dried, but picking my way across an ill-defined path through the poo required concentration. I didn’t spend too much time there.
We went on and ended up in the evening at another monastery where there was going to be some sort of spiritual dance happening. Even as we arrived, tractor-loads of pilgrims and locals were arriving taking their seats on the floor for the performance. As I was blessed earlier in the day I was feeling bohemian and said I’d like to stay and watch.
As darkness fell I ended up in part of the floor with Carl and a bunch of locals who were examining us curiously. The children would look and giggle and I amused myself by pulling faces at them. Then at the appointed time the performance started. You would not know though as most of the audience just kept on talking. The performance just consisted of some low-level chanting and the banging of one drum. Naturally I got bored and both Carl and I decided that we should go outside and drink beer. An excellent plan, though exiting the monastery was interesting. I had to crowd-surf through the people who were smiling and laughing (at me) and pulling my arms so I could get through more quickly. I only trod on about 7 of them but eventually made it out with no harm done. It was a good natured display anyway, typical of the Tibetans I'd met so far.
Carl and I visited the very small shop and purchased the local brew and sat under the stars talking and setting the world to rights. I had not seen a sky as clear as that for a long time. Carl introduced me to the consellations of the Plough, Orion, and the Coke Spoon (like the Plough but much smaller, not far from the star at Orion's head - very faint).
The days after this passed almost the same, with us visiting monasteries and eating and staying along the way. We eventually made it to Samye Monastery, which is a pretty big one with its own guesthouse on site. This is where we stayed for a couple of nights.
The valley it is in is kind of like Tatooine in the Star Wars stories. There are sand dunes for miles, a river running through it and lots of small communities dotted around it made from those same low flat buildings. Each one was built by hand and made from the mud they get during the rains.
It was nice to get running water again in the form of a hand pump in the centre courtyard of the hostel. Nothing like a nice bowl of cold water first thing in the morning to wake you up! The strange thing is that at these temperatures and with the dry air at altitude you never sweat. I wore the same gear for almost 4 days, which at home would be almost lethal, though here it was fine.
One day here we decided to take a walk up a mountain to a monastery. We took the 4WD across the plains to the mountain and walked the rest of the way. Going properly off road like that really showed was the difference between 4wd and 2WD is! Well, i was impressed.
We walked up and got some lovely views of the valley as it was morning and the winds had not started to blow the dust. We made it to about two thirds of the way up when our guide took us to meet a hermit. Now this was not some crazy naked old man but a nun who has been living in her hut, which was quite well appointed, for about 7 years. She gave us more of that Yak tea which I discovered was fine if I knocked back the whole cup in one go and told us she only had another 6 years to go. I did not find out how enlightened she was yet though with a view like that I could certainly find enlightenment soon enough. We carried on up the mountain after thanking her and finally made it to the monastery. This took a little while. Whilst I have never been at altitude before the effects are pronounced. I was unable to carry on more than a few steps before getting out of breath, which was frustrating. Dave and The Muscles From Brussels made it past the monastery and over the mountain! Show offs.
It was lunchtime at the monastery and we sat down. I got my camera out and one of the monks offered me a bowl of rice and a yak-stew they were eating. I was hungry and so accepted. It was a very nice meal and turned out to give unlimited refills. I managed about 4 bowls of this stuff, though I noticed that the monks ate about the same so I was not taking more than my share. In the mean time my camera was a point of interest of a small boy who lived there. He indicated if he could use it and I let him. He shot half a roll of film. Some pictures of me (never good), and some of his mates inside the monastery itself. Not bad, as we’re not allowed to take pictures inside. After getting them developed I posted his ones to him. I hope they arrive. The monks were a mellow bunch and I enjoyed the hour or so sitting with them, though communications were just gestures and smiles, as they knew no English. Our guide did translate some stuff but I was content just sitting there and looking around me. They seemed content to just look at me and be all wise.
I don't think the monk's life is for me though. The robes they all wear are quite nice though devoting my whole life to spiritual enlightenment seems a little selfish. Who cares if I achieve enlightenment apart from me? The faith is strong in these people though and they are all of calm abnd generous spirit, as were all the pilgrims I met. I really wanted to see if they'd perform any kung-fu or stuff but that just the Shaolin monks.
This trip took up the whole day and so in the evening we bounced back across the desert in our trusty Landcruiser to the monastery for dinner and more drinks.
The journey back to Lhasa was different. We decided to take a ferry back 30% of the way to avoid going back the way we came by road. We thought that we had found the ferry port which was just part of the riverbank so Stijn, Dave, and I waited there in the desert for about 15 minutes. I began to doubt the authenticity of this port when our jeep came out of the heat haze like Omar Sharif in Lawrence Of Arabia. It turned out that the port had moved and our driver had noticed this on their way back by road.
We eventually got onto the ferry and managed to get to our destination, which was a brick hut in the middle of a very violent dust storm. The three hours we waited for the jeep to come round (this is the time that the ferry saves you) were some of the longest I have ever waited. There was literally nothing to do! I sat and slept for a bit and soon our venerable jeep arrived and we made our jolly way back to Lhasa, bouncing like a moon-buggy along the unmade roads.
This was my first taste of travelling “properly”, off the beaten track. Meeting people of totally different backgrounds is interesting though I wish I could communicate more effectively in their language. I found out that the name of the boy who borrowed my camera was Shirub Gantsen.
After this I am determined to see more out of the way places, as it's not that difficult.
So on the morning when we had to depart for the Yarlung Valley it was about 0700, still dark and I was foggy and confused like I am most mornings. Things started well though as I instantly got on well with Dave and Carl, the two others, as well as knowing Stijn and Mike from earlier. Our guide was friendly and spoke good English and the driver knew what he was doing in the 4WD.
One of our first stops on the way to Samye Monastery was another monastery, though this one could only be accessed from a river. We stopped and got onto a ferry, which was just a wooden hulled vessel with a diesel lawn-mower engine at one end. Our pilot navigated us across a length of river that was beautiful. The water was calm and deep green, with the clear blue sky above us, and mountains framing everything.
We put ashore by the monastery and walked up to it. Our guide told us that there was a Lama in residence and that we might meet him. A Lama in this context is like a Buddhist monk who has reached a certain level of enlightenment. A Lama is the head of one or more monasteries and as such is more like a Catholic Bishop, though without the loud clothing. Or guilt.
We met a couple of the monks who were genuinely friendly as they get few tourists here (seems a shame to put it in the Lonely Planet) and they gave us tea as we waited for an audience with the Lama. Now Tibetans drink nothing other than something called Yak Butter Tea. This is normal tea made with leaves, then whitened with Yak Butter (it’s more like sour cream) and then with a lot of salt. This means that to me it tastes faintly of blue cheese or goats cheese. Not your average cuppa. I have never got used to the flavour of this and often you can order something they call Sweet Tea, which is whitened with the butter and flavoured with sugar. I liked this as it just tastes like sweet tea at home. The Yak-dependency is because at these altitudes and with the dust they dehydrate quickly and one’s lips can crack with the dryness of the air. The salt and the oils in this tea replenish your fluids and soothe your lips. It just tastes of yak.
Shortly afterwards we were shepherded into a room with the Lama sitting in it. What impressed me was that there was very little pomp or ceremony involved. We had each bought one prayer scarf, which is just a length of nylon fabric though it looks like silk, and had to present this to him whilst bowing. I went in and curtsied, presenting my scarf, and he took it in his hands, said a blessing and placed the scarf around my neck. That’s about as close to religion as I have come since my baptism at the age of 6 months. I thought he was a very nice man. I still have the scarf and we were told that it could protect us from misfortune. I certainly needed that given the age of our truck.
I had my head in the clouds having been blessed and saved from a reincarnation as an estate agent and we made our way back to the opposite shore. The journey from there took in a few more monasteries (ho-hum) and our car took in some more dust as by this time the lunchtime hurricane had started blowing dust across the unsurfaced roads we travelled upon. With each gust dust would flow into the car through the ventilators. It was much finer than sand looking and tasting more like talc.
We stopped for lunch at some point in a real Tibetan one-yak town. We sat at this restaurant and our driver kindly bought a dish of yak jerky, like strips of air-dried meat. This stuff had not been cooked or flavoured before drying, so I took a lump of it in my mouth and was nearly sick. It tasted like yak-lard of the type they burn in the monasteries but I had to finish it because the driver had bought it for us and I did not wish to be rude. He also had a big knife, with which he was hacking away at this pile of yak shoe-leather and eating it with gusto. I had the yak curry for lunch that was very tasty.
While in this town I needed the toilet and was directed to a side street covered in human waste. It did not smell, as most of it was sun-dried, but picking my way across an ill-defined path through the poo required concentration. I didn’t spend too much time there.
We went on and ended up in the evening at another monastery where there was going to be some sort of spiritual dance happening. Even as we arrived, tractor-loads of pilgrims and locals were arriving taking their seats on the floor for the performance. As I was blessed earlier in the day I was feeling bohemian and said I’d like to stay and watch.
As darkness fell I ended up in part of the floor with Carl and a bunch of locals who were examining us curiously. The children would look and giggle and I amused myself by pulling faces at them. Then at the appointed time the performance started. You would not know though as most of the audience just kept on talking. The performance just consisted of some low-level chanting and the banging of one drum. Naturally I got bored and both Carl and I decided that we should go outside and drink beer. An excellent plan, though exiting the monastery was interesting. I had to crowd-surf through the people who were smiling and laughing (at me) and pulling my arms so I could get through more quickly. I only trod on about 7 of them but eventually made it out with no harm done. It was a good natured display anyway, typical of the Tibetans I'd met so far.
Carl and I visited the very small shop and purchased the local brew and sat under the stars talking and setting the world to rights. I had not seen a sky as clear as that for a long time. Carl introduced me to the consellations of the Plough, Orion, and the Coke Spoon (like the Plough but much smaller, not far from the star at Orion's head - very faint).
The days after this passed almost the same, with us visiting monasteries and eating and staying along the way. We eventually made it to Samye Monastery, which is a pretty big one with its own guesthouse on site. This is where we stayed for a couple of nights.
The valley it is in is kind of like Tatooine in the Star Wars stories. There are sand dunes for miles, a river running through it and lots of small communities dotted around it made from those same low flat buildings. Each one was built by hand and made from the mud they get during the rains.
It was nice to get running water again in the form of a hand pump in the centre courtyard of the hostel. Nothing like a nice bowl of cold water first thing in the morning to wake you up! The strange thing is that at these temperatures and with the dry air at altitude you never sweat. I wore the same gear for almost 4 days, which at home would be almost lethal, though here it was fine.
One day here we decided to take a walk up a mountain to a monastery. We took the 4WD across the plains to the mountain and walked the rest of the way. Going properly off road like that really showed was the difference between 4wd and 2WD is! Well, i was impressed.
We walked up and got some lovely views of the valley as it was morning and the winds had not started to blow the dust. We made it to about two thirds of the way up when our guide took us to meet a hermit. Now this was not some crazy naked old man but a nun who has been living in her hut, which was quite well appointed, for about 7 years. She gave us more of that Yak tea which I discovered was fine if I knocked back the whole cup in one go and told us she only had another 6 years to go. I did not find out how enlightened she was yet though with a view like that I could certainly find enlightenment soon enough. We carried on up the mountain after thanking her and finally made it to the monastery. This took a little while. Whilst I have never been at altitude before the effects are pronounced. I was unable to carry on more than a few steps before getting out of breath, which was frustrating. Dave and The Muscles From Brussels made it past the monastery and over the mountain! Show offs.
It was lunchtime at the monastery and we sat down. I got my camera out and one of the monks offered me a bowl of rice and a yak-stew they were eating. I was hungry and so accepted. It was a very nice meal and turned out to give unlimited refills. I managed about 4 bowls of this stuff, though I noticed that the monks ate about the same so I was not taking more than my share. In the mean time my camera was a point of interest of a small boy who lived there. He indicated if he could use it and I let him. He shot half a roll of film. Some pictures of me (never good), and some of his mates inside the monastery itself. Not bad, as we’re not allowed to take pictures inside. After getting them developed I posted his ones to him. I hope they arrive. The monks were a mellow bunch and I enjoyed the hour or so sitting with them, though communications were just gestures and smiles, as they knew no English. Our guide did translate some stuff but I was content just sitting there and looking around me. They seemed content to just look at me and be all wise.
I don't think the monk's life is for me though. The robes they all wear are quite nice though devoting my whole life to spiritual enlightenment seems a little selfish. Who cares if I achieve enlightenment apart from me? The faith is strong in these people though and they are all of calm abnd generous spirit, as were all the pilgrims I met. I really wanted to see if they'd perform any kung-fu or stuff but that just the Shaolin monks.
This trip took up the whole day and so in the evening we bounced back across the desert in our trusty Landcruiser to the monastery for dinner and more drinks.
The journey back to Lhasa was different. We decided to take a ferry back 30% of the way to avoid going back the way we came by road. We thought that we had found the ferry port which was just part of the riverbank so Stijn, Dave, and I waited there in the desert for about 15 minutes. I began to doubt the authenticity of this port when our jeep came out of the heat haze like Omar Sharif in Lawrence Of Arabia. It turned out that the port had moved and our driver had noticed this on their way back by road.
We eventually got onto the ferry and managed to get to our destination, which was a brick hut in the middle of a very violent dust storm. The three hours we waited for the jeep to come round (this is the time that the ferry saves you) were some of the longest I have ever waited. There was literally nothing to do! I sat and slept for a bit and soon our venerable jeep arrived and we made our jolly way back to Lhasa, bouncing like a moon-buggy along the unmade roads.
This was my first taste of travelling “properly”, off the beaten track. Meeting people of totally different backgrounds is interesting though I wish I could communicate more effectively in their language. I found out that the name of the boy who borrowed my camera was Shirub Gantsen.
After this I am determined to see more out of the way places, as it's not that difficult.